


The Only Time She Told the Truth

by undermyumbreon



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: EatTheRare, F/F, Post TWOTL, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Reba is recovering after all that happened to her, sorry if this story lacks detail- I'm trying to finish it on time for the last day of the event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8057257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undermyumbreon/pseuds/undermyumbreon
Summary: Reba deals with the news of her deceased lover, Francis Dolarhyde. Coming up on the heels of learning his true identity as the Tooth Fairy/Great Red Dragon, Reba struggles to move on from his death and his love. Her life changes even further when a persistent tabloid reporter keeps knocking at her door.





	The Only Time She Told the Truth

     When Reba received the news that Francis Dolarhyde was deceased, it was the beginning of her inner turmoil. She had dated and loved him, but he had been the man behind the Tooth Fairy murders. Reba had found out about his hidden identity only a few days prior to his death. There wasn’t a support group that was made to comfort those who had fallen in love with a criminal before they knew their true character. There certainly wasn’t anything for someone mourning for them when they died. She had help finding a therapist while in the hospital, but what would she even tell them? Reba assumed that discussing her feelings for this killer would only lead to scolding. She imagined her therapist judging her relationship with Francis. She thought of strangers yelling at her for being selfishly in love with him when families were mourning the deaths of their relatives by his hands. But she was also in mourning, and she hated herself for it. Even after everything D did, she couldn’t let him go. She missed him terribly.  
When Reba returned home from the hospital, she decided to turn to the internet to help her accept reality. In the privacy of her home, she would command her smart tablet to find the latest articles on Francis and read them aloud to her. She ended up sitting for hours with tears falling from her eyes as the tablet read the words to her. Writers spoke of how the families of the deceased were upset that he couldn’t be tried for his crimes. They said that the world was safer without men like Francis. They called him violent and dangerous. That wasn’t the D she knew…  
     But it was-  
     But it wasn’t-  
     He had not judged her-  
     But he had lied to her about who he was-  
     He had made love to her-  
     But he had made her feel a dead body and assume it was his-  
     He had given her life meaning-  
     But… he had almost killed her…  
     Why did this have to be so hard?

     During her online searches, she came across a website called Tattle Crime. It was a hub of murder and crime tabloid gossip. She pushed herself onward to have the articles read to her, even though she knew this type of coping was more detrimental to her vulnerable state. The author of the site, Freddie Lounds, hammered her lover more harshly than any other reporter had done before. In an older article, Miss Lounds had referred to Francis as “ _ugly_ ,” “ _impotent_ ,” and a “ _product of incest_.” The most current article called him a “ _monstrosity_ ” and “ _still an ugly man with ugly intentions until his death_.” Reba had to stop the audio as she sobbed at the slander. It took her roughly a half hour to recollect herself and stop crying. Reba decided, against better judgement, to continue listening. Fortunately, there was only a paragraph left of the article. However, the last few sentences sent a shock through her body:  
     " _I hope one day to gather information from a supposed lover he had during these murders. Until then, her identity will remain anonymous. Perhaps she would be willing to provide insight into the life of loving a murderer. I plan to find out_."  
     Reba felt a lump in her throat. She tried to swallow it away as she felt for the off button on her tablet. She hoped that this Lounds woman would not be able to find her. How could she? What would Reba do if she ever showed up at her door? She prayed she wouldn’t have to find out.  
  
  
      Almost two weeks had passed since Reba had read Freddie Lounds’ articles. She had put it out of her mind and tried to buckle down at work. Friends came to visit her almost every day. They would either show up at her door or her coworkers would drive her home. They helped distract her and avoid the temptation to check the internet for more news on Francis. When the doorbell rang on that Sunday morning, Reba didn’t think much of it. She carefully made her way to the front door and opened it, wondering who had chosen to visit her this time. A waft of perfume filled her lungs.  
     "Hello, Miss McClane," a higher pitched voice reached her ears.  
     Reba didn’t recognize the voice, "May I ask who you are?"  
     “I’m Freddie Lounds."  
     Reba’s breath froze. Freddie Lounds had managed to find her, “Who?” she played naïve as best as she could, hoping the reporter would think she had made a mistake and go away.  
     “Journalist and founder of Tattle Crime.”  
     “I’m- I’m not familiar,” Reba lied. She could tell her voice was breaking slightly. Rage and fear were consuming her mind as this Lounds woman spoke.  
     “It is a website that I had started many years ago. It’s for my journalism on American murderers and other various horrific and sensational crimes.”  
     “Sounds… grim,” Reba offered.  
     “It can be-” Reba heard the sound of a purse open and slight rummaging, “-but not as grim as your relationship with the Tooth Fairy.”  
     Reba’s heart thudded against her rib cage. She thought she heard a small clicking noise, “My what-“ she blurted out.  
     “Your love affair with the Tooth Fairy. You know, the person who tried to kill you?”  
     Reba’s body went numb. Her prayers had not been answered and this devil of a woman had appeared at her doorstep, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her lie was evident from the tone in her voice.  
     “I’m here to gather facts Miss McClane. I know you were involved with him. I can use your story to gain you sympathy from my readers. I’m sure you need it right now.”  
     “I am doing well on my own,” Reba said curtly, still lying even as her voice wavered, “My life is none of your business.”  
     “It is now? It seems the public wants to learn more about it,” Reba felt Miss Lounds’ presence looming closer to her. Reba reached out to stop her from approaching. She felt a small, rectangular device in the woman’s hand.  
“Are you recording me!?” Reba cried out. It didn’t matter if she was right, that was the last straw, “Please leave me alone. Goodbye!” she slammed the door and felt for its lock, turning it successfully to keep Miss Lounds out. It was probably not the first time Miss Lounds had a door shut on her. Reba was so disturbed by the meeting that she skipped lunch. Doing so enhanced her depression and anxiety. Reba worried about the woman coming back. She knew that no one would sympathize with her, no matter how Miss Lounds phrased it. She hated the thought of her pain being used to make money for some tabloid reporter. Reba spent the majority of the day lying on the couch as she cycled through bouts of crying and sleep. By dinner time, she had managed to convince herself that she needed to schedule a therapy appointment. She needed help to cope with her trauma. Even if she couldn’t talk about her love for Francis as much as she desired to, she could at least work on moving past the near-death experience. Maybe through that she would be able to let Francis go.   
  
  
     Several more weeks had gone by since Miss Lounds had visited Reba. Reba always checked Tattle Crime for a new story on Francis, but any mentions of his name were only in passing. Miss Lounds seemed to focus more on the men that had killed him. Reba was attending therapy sessions twice a week after work. She was able to discuss the fire incident with her therapist, but when they asked how she knew Francis, Reba said he was a friend.  
     “It must be hard having a friend hurt you like this,” the therapist had commented.  
     “Yes…” was all Reba remembered responding with.  At this point, she was accepting the horrors of Francis’ actions, but it was always combated against her love for him. The gravity of his decisions was slowly resonating with her. While it caused her great pain, she knew she had to go through it.  
     Summertime was rounding the corner. Reba felt that she was gradually making progress as the weather became warmer. She had her friends to support her when she struggled and her job to keep her mind occupied. Reba felt that her urge to read online articles was decreasing. She was getting through each day checking her tablet less frequently. Reba felt she was being reborn like the spring. She had made it through the harsh winter and came out battered, but determined to keep living. She didn’t feel she had to defend Francis as often as when he first passed. Her new growth and development was tested when her door rang on a Saturday afternoon. When Reba opened it, the waft of familiar perfume entered her nose. She recoiled.  
     “You’re here again aren’t you? I can smell your perfume. You really should use less."  
     “Perhaps next time I will,” Reba confirmed it was Miss Lounds by her voice.  
     “Why are you here?  I do not wish to talk about Francis."  
     “I’m not here to ask about your former lover. Besides, his time has come and gone. Americans are more interested about the people who killed the Tooth Fairy.”  
     Reba frowned, already knowing that was a fact, but she didn’t want to lead on that she had read the articles Miss Lounds was referencing. It was very difficult to make out the infliction in Miss Lounds’ voice. She always talked as if every statement she made was sarcastic and full of false sympathy. Reba thought of another means to getting the truth, “How can you prove that to me?”  
     “Prove it to you?”  
     “Yes.”  
     “I’m not sure. Do you have a solution, Miss McClane?”  
  
  
     “Why did you say such awful things about Francis?”  
     “So you have read my articles? When did that start?” Reba hesitated, realizing she had let that fact slip. She took a sip from her cup to buy herself time to think of an answer. Miss Lounds had prepared tea for the two of them. Reba sat in a cushioned chair with arm rests. She assumed the other woman was directly across from her from the direction of shuffling noise. Reba had asked Miss Lounds to drive them to her apartment. She felt this would prevent Miss Lounds from snooping for evidence of her relationship with Francis in Reba’s house.  
     “I was just curious about your journalism methods,” Reba decided to deviate her way around her blunder.  
     She heard Miss Lounds shift on a cushion of sorts, “It attracts the public when you throw poetry into the horrors that the world offers. I merely assume the public’s reaction to an event and emphasize it in my works to get a strong emotional reaction. It enraptures their fear and hopelessness for peace in this world. They resonate with my works more vividly than they do with other news sources.”  
     To Reba, it sounded like the generic answer Freddie always gave to this type of question. She knew from reading Freddie’s articles that her ‘artistic choices’ were meant to create a mob mentality against the opposing threat she personally set up to destroy. Her articles gave the public a sense of entitlement. At least THEY weren’t as disgusting and immoral as these killers, right? The sensation of her works was addicting and readers were prone to sub come to the next juicy tidbits of news, true or not. Having some story is better than none was what Reba felt was Miss Lounds’ mentality. It certainly had Reba hooked for a while, “Why did you come back?”  
     “You are a very interesting person. Usually, I only come back to a potential source when I see a way of accessing its information. From the moment I spoke to you though, I felt there was something different about you. There was a determination that I knew I wouldn’t be able to crack, even when I knew what potentially lied inside. You are self-reliant. Independent. You remind me of myself, and I can respect that. We both have been through horrendous experiences and I feel we can connect over them.”  
     Reba was curious about Miss Lounds’ past now, but she didn’t want to pry about her personal life. That was where she and Miss Lounds differed, “You’ve only met me once. How could you tell my nature? Have you not been rejected in the same way that I rejected you in the past? I thought I was no different.”  
     “I have been. I originally did plan to return to your residence to pester you more, but I decided against it and wrote about a similar, but diverging topic in its place.”  
     Reba hesitated with her next set of questions, hoping to gain more insight into Miss Lounds’ thinking, “Did you feel sorry for me because I am blind? Did you pity me because Francis almost killed me?”  
     “No, I didn’t,” Reba heard the sound of a cup and plate clinking together, “I work in a field where I have to cut all personal ties and sympathies to my subjects. Rather, I have not written about you because it seems my personal life came before my professional one and I could not muster myself to continue the investigation I had promised for Dolarhyde’s love life. Therefore, you are not one of my subjects and I can interact with you on a more intimate level,” she said matter-of-factly.  
     Reba thought this over, sipping the last bit of her tea. She thought about Francis. She thought about what Freddie had written about Francis. Reba adored Francis when they were together. Through therapy and her friends’ support however, she was truly accepting how Francis had scarred her. He had traumatized her, lied to her, committed crime… It hurt that she had to acknowledge those parts of D. She had been angry at Freddie because she had written content that Reba needed to hear. While it was not all true, Reba realized that by acknowledging the reaction to the other side of Francis, the less she was inclined to put him in a good light. If he had completely loved her, he would have told her the truth and set her free without harming her. So far, Miss Lounds, a woman who had built her life on lies and exaggerations, seemed to be honest about her interest. Her attachment to Reba was genuine.  
     “Where would you want to meet?” Reba asked.  
     “I can come over to your place for a visit. Perhaps this weekend would be best.”  
     Reba pondered the timing and answered, “That sounds fine.”  
     “I want to get to know you. I want to know what drives you and inspires you. You can probably guess that I am not one to say this often, but I believe that you are truly fascinating because of who you are as a whole person.”  
     Miss Lounds drove her home after they had finished conversing. Reba was still wary about the woman’s intentions, but she no longer felt angry about the words she wrote regarding Francis. When Reba was dropped off, Miss Lounds told her to call her Freddie. The next few mornings, Reba checked for articles about herself on Tattle Crime to test how truthful Freddie’s words had been. None showed up. She had posted other content, but there was no mention of Reba, or even Francis for that matter. Reba felt relieved. She would be expecting Freddie on better terms during their next meeting.  
  
  
     Reba and Freddie sat on the couch in Reba’s living room. It was a quiet early summer evening. Freddie had used less perfume as she had promised, "I knew who you were before you came to my house."  
     "I thought so. It was evident that you were trying to hide that from me."  
     “May I feel your face?” Reba asked.  
“I guess you can,” Reba reached out, lightly touching Freddie’s cheeks. She cupped them, feeling the evident cheek bones. She touched the woman’s nose with her thumbs. It was thin by her eyes and wide at the bottom. Reba moved her hands down Freddie’s jaw to her chin. The jaw lines were very pronounced and her chin was square. Finally, Reba lightly brushed her fingers across Freddie’s lips. They were thin, but pronounced. Reba felt Freddie’s lips pucker slightly. Her heart skipped a beat, hoping she didn’t misinterpret the movement as a kiss. When Reba removed her hands from Freddie’s face, she reached for her hair and surprised herself when her fingers were caught in a bush of loose curls.  
     “Tell me what you look like, besides your face,” Reba requested.  
     “My skin is white and my hair is reddish orange. I have blue eyes.”  
     “What does the rest of you look like?” Freddie took her hands and guided them to her sides.  
     “I give you permission to find that out yourself,” Reba felt slightly flustered by the gesture. She was taken aback by the forwardness Freddie exerted, but Reba did not move away. Freddie was built with slight curves. Her hips were not very wide, but they emphasized Freddie’s small waist.  
     “You must be very beautiful,” Reba commented.  
     “Do you want to know what beauty feels like?”  
     Reba took her hands off of Freddie’s body, “What do you mean?” She heard motion and felt Freddie’s breath gently on her face. Freddie laid her hands onto Reba’s lap and pressed her lips into hers.  
     As they kissed, they found each other’s hands and intertwined their fingers. It was a tender kiss. The last time Reba had felt this type of connection it had been with Francis. To her surprise, she did not pull away when she thought of her deceased lover. For the first time in months, Reba felt as ease. She felt safe, which was ironic since she was with a journalist. If she could survive a notorious killer, Reba thought, then she could survive a tabloid gossiper. She could move on.   
  
  
          Freddie had gathered her things and walked with Reba to the front door. They had decided to call it a night after they had stopped kissing. Reba felt she knew Freddie much more intimately than any other person that had graced the journalist’s life.  
     “When shall I see you again, Reba?” Freddie asked.  
     “Tomorrow?” she suggested. Reba felt for the door knob and opened the door. She felt Freddie brush past her.  
     “Tomorrow then. I’ll be back at here at the same time,” and with a peck on the cheek, she was gone. The night air was warm, and so was Reba’s heart. She would never read another article on Francis again after that evening.


End file.
